


Ennius

by veeoheyedee



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27049783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veeoheyedee/pseuds/veeoheyedee
Summary: Peace be with you.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Ennius

The church door groaned as it was forced open, shamefully giving ground to the frame of the Boy that pressed all his weight against it, until the door pushed its back against something hard and refused to move any further. The Boy squeezed his way through the gap, the bulk of his shield on his back scraping at the thick layer of dirt on the stone wall. He landed first on soft, wet earth, then moved until his footsteps met stone and echoed throughout the building. 

Sunlight broke through broken windows, revealing dust flittering in the air like mischievous sprites. The splash and tinkle of running water came from a far off corner, a new fork for a nearby river that had eroded part of the masonry and sought to become somewhat holier than it had been before. A headless woman born of marble waited patiently between the rows of pews in front of the Boy. She clutched a broken scepter and a nondescript sack in her hands, their golden sheen in stark contrast to the dirited cream of her body. Her head had departed from her shoulders and laid instead at the base of the statue, as cracked and decrepit as the ground it rested on.

The Boy approached her and knelt down to the mess sprawled across the moss infected stone. He shifted a piece of debris aside, and a blank, pupilless eye stared at him through the gap he had created. Vacant, disregarding - and yet, pleading, frightened. Aware that she was trapped in a building that had submitted to age and neglect, and still somehow felt above it all. The Boy took her eye and felt its weight in his hand - a hefty piece, light enough to throw a reasonable distance and gift someone or something else with a swollen eye, if necessary. He blinded her gaze with his thumb and carried it with him, turning his attention to the ceiling. 

Wooden beams sat high up, shrouded in darkness as they struggled to keep the roof atop their backs. The ceiling had held up remarkably well, considering the state of everything that lurked beneath it. Only a single hole betrayed protection from the elements, the remains of what once was now retired in a heap like the head behind the Boy. 

He heard a small, almost silent creak, somewhere above and to his left, and twisted his head to fixate. Fretting over the degradation of a place of worship was not on his agenda today - he had a job, and with thanks to the village elder of Atonia, fulfilling it would pay enough to feed and supply himself for at least a whole month. 

His task skulked upon the beams, within that darkness. While it made no sound from its own being, its slight movements gave it away. The Boy already expected it would be there, between his employer’s insistence of where and how the creature dwelled within these dying walls, and his own observations over the course of that morning. He suspected equally well that the creature had knowledge of his presence long before he had entered its abode, and while he had not been so rash as to wander in unprepared, he still felt confident enough to move as though he owned the place. That it hadn’t tried to attack him already told the Boy two things about his target; wariness, or patience. Or perhaps both. 

The Boy whistled, as if seeking the attention of a dog, and then he paced, eyes fixed on the high, shadowed ceiling. The moment he heard another noise, he twisted and threw the projectile in his hand, watching as the unnatural blackness consumed it. The marble eye connected with nothing, revealed nothing, and did not fall back down. The Boy dislodged the small bow from his back and drew a more deadly projectile into his offhand. 

And waited.

Moments later, the eye dropped back to the ground, straight, devoid of its previous momentum. It smashed on contact with the ground. Something stirred, and the wooden beams yelled out in pain. The Boy stepped backwards, calmly, and rested the arrow against bowstring.

“Have they grown so fearful that they would arm children against me?”

The voice - low, slow and without discernible location - intrigued the Boy, but did not shock him. The pool of darkness that drowned the ceiling faded a little, and he could just about see a slick, shimmering outline of the gangly figure submerged in it. It grasped onto the beams and lowered itself downwards, only shy of revealing itself in the light. 

“Ah, no,” it said ponderously. Dust floated downwards, escaping from the depths of the darkness. “Not one of theirs. Another body coaxed to burn on the pyre of their sins. What story has she furnished you with, child?”

The Boy did not answer. He tapped his finger on the shaft of the arrow, eyes unblinking. The creature focused elsewhere, unfazed by the open display of his intent. 

“Or perhaps the east wishes to return to this land, instead. To spread their vile teachings once again.” Silence. “A soldier? A scout?” it said. “You cannot hide it, child. The scent of those harlots pervades you, as it does all your kind. Forsorn routed your influence many cycles ago, cured your poison.” The creature shifted, and made a satisfied sound. “Never had I been so proud of this land, these people. Ah. So much hope, potential. Alas, they faltered in that peace. Strayed away from the convictions that brought them together.” 

“Disappointing,” it said.

The Boy breathed out through his nose, agitated. He paid little heed to the creature’s ramblings. Instead he waited for an invitation to attack, like a glowing eye staring down at him that begged desperately to be shot. No such thing appeared, and his patience was but a fraying strand.

“No matter,” the creature continued. “Whether you come through trickery or to seek penance, you will not receive punishment from me this day.” Darkness shimmered, and the Boy sensed the creature turning away from him. He had waited long enough. “Take your weapon elsewhere, and leave me be.” 

The sound of a bowstring tensing resonated through the church, and within a second, an explosion of light illuminated the ceiling. The creature roared hellishly, though its tone soon fell to one more akin to a frightened man, cowardly snivelling. It scratched at the wooden beams, splintering them as it failed to grip, and plummeted down on its back with a wet slap against the stone ground. Its thin extended limbs reminded the Boy more of skulltula legs, thrashing and curling in its death throes. Strings of light coursed visibly on its blackened body, and every surge forced the creature to jolt and twitch. No matter what it did, it could not break free of its paralysis. 

Its head - or what at least looked like its head, as elongated and featureless at it was - laid sideways against the ground. Returning the bow to his back, the Boy stepped to the side of the creature, drew his sword, held it with both hands and sliced clean through the creature’s string-like neck without hesitation. He stepped back and allowed the body to finish convulsing, then, after much deliberation and little additional movement from his target, the Boy decided that it was dead. Too quick, too easy, and not at all what he was told to expect. But, he wouldn’t complain about that. 

The Boy then turned his attention to the thin strand of black along the width of his blade. It shimmered unnaturally in the sunlight, its consistency that of tar and yet somehow as fluid as water. The sun imbued it with blue and white, made it twinkle like stars in a night sky. Further intrigued, the Boy kicked the creature’s head towards a pew, directly into the sunlight’s slanted entry through a window, just to see if it would achieve the same result. No such display - rather the head seemed to dim the light around it, and casted no shadow to call its own. It sat still - a pure, flat black, like a hole torn open in reality.

“Hmm,” the Boy said. He wasn’t sure if he should be perturbed or excited at the possibility of there being a mystery to unravel. Little surprised him anymore, and even the creature behind him felt somewhat mundane in its absurdity. Of course, he felt some satisfaction in knowing that he had helped a village full of kind, warm, hospitable people to rest easier at night, and sure, he’d walk away with a fuller wallet at the end of it all. But.

But.

But nothing.

The Boy brought his sword up to his sleeve to clean it, and then frowned when he noticed that cleaning it wouldn’t be necessary. He turned his attention to the head bathing in the sun, and frowned deeper when he saw it dissipating, melting gradually like ice, and then sizzling soundlessly on the ground.

Then he turned himself, faced the mass behind him, and watched with disgust as the creature, still headless, pushed itself up on all fours. And then the Boy knew.

His work not yet finished, he stumbled back, pulled his shield from his back and lowered himself, prepared for combat.

“Enough of that,” the creature spoke, its misshapen fingers shaking as it struggled to keep itself off the ground. Its voice was sharper than it had been, although strained, distant, like it had to traverse space and time just to broadcast itself in this world. What stood out even more was the fear it now attempted to disguise. Fear of the power that ravaged its body just a moment ago. Fear of him.

Despite that, the creature turned away from the Boy and displayed no intention of engaging him, or defending itself. That, more than anything else, left the Boy with no idea how to proceed. As he watched the creature crawl over towards the altar that sat behind the statue, it struck him all at once like a wayward Goron tumbling down a hill. He really had no idea what the hell he was dealing with.

“Always predisposed to violence,” the creature said. “The decades haven’t changed you Hylians at all.”

The Boy stood straight, relaxed himself slightly, and watched as the creature turned at the altar and sat down. 

“What is it you seek from me?” it said after a long silence. 

The Boy spoke almost impulsively. “You. Gone.” He sniffed, and pointed the tip of his sword toward the deconstructing head. “In case that wasn’t already clear.”

The Boy couldn’t tell if the creature chuckled or snorted. Either way, it wasn’t something he would’ve expected to hear from it, headless or not. “Gone? You would drive a priest from a chapel. Such blasphemy.”

The Boy furrowed his brow, shifted his weight. “A priest? Here? You?”

“A priest is welcome to any holy place as a home,” it said. “Even those that may be tainted by other company.” The creature gestured distinctly towards the statue in front of it.

“Yeahsureokay, but you?” The Boy scoffed. “A priest of what, then?”

“The arrogance of it,” the creature said, clearly insulted. “First you strike with unholy trickery, then you slay, and then you dare to display such ignorance. No. You will find no such answers from me this day.”

“Never expected to be asking questions in the first place,” the Boy said. A sharp, chill breeze blew throughout the church, and made him realise his own agitation building up again, heating his body to uncomfortable levels. He paced steadily. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still going to be leaving this place, one way or another.”

“Ah.” The creature placed a hand on the altar, and only then did the Boy notice the unevenness of its form - the one arm shorter than the other, the breadth and shape of its almost man-like torso, the tattered, stained robes that appeared melded to its inky ‘skin’. “And why would you seek me gone?” it said.

The Boy’s lips thinned out. “Because I’m telling you nicely.”

For a moment, the headless creature seemed to contemplate that. The age-dulled silk that covered the altar travelled with the creature’s hand as it pulled away, stuck to its open palm before abruptly falling into a bundle. 

“Yet you strike without remorse,” the creature mused. “You would wish me dead, then.”

“Preferably.” The Boy gripped his sword tighter. “Though something’s telling me you weren’t even alive to begin with. Dunno why,” he said dryly.

That seemed to amuse the creature. “Your steel certainly wouldn’t be the first that has passed through this body,” it admitted. “That you stopped so soon in your attempt to deliver your - Ah - judgement, however, is telling.”

“Usually when you cut the head off something, it dies,” the Boy stated. 

“True faith cannot be severed so bluntly.” The creature crouched low, drifting unsteadily to the side as it settled. “I imagine you, however, would be more easily parted.”

The Boy paused, then returned his equipment to his back. The bow entered his hands once again. 

“Ah. Yes, falling onto trickery once more. Shall I place my back to you again?” 

The Boy scowled. 

“I will admit that I never expected a child to have knowledge of such a spell. Your goddesses must be desperate indeed.” The trepidation in its voice was almost palpable, yet no such fear showed in its movements. “Alas, you waste your strength with it. Unless, of course, there lies the capacity for torture in your heart?”

The Boy levelled his gaze. “From what I’ve heard, it’d be the least you deserve,” he said flatly. 

“There it is.” The creature moved away from the altar and closer towards him. In reaction, the Boy brandished another arrow, and stood his ground. “So you come here on Salandra’s behalf? As expected.”

The Boy remained silent. He could’ve lied, though he doubted his ability to make it a convincing one. The creature stopped a few feet ahead of him. Even hunched over, it towered above the Boy. He felt the air growing thinner in its presence, as though being sucked away.  
Another arrow touched the bowstring.

“I had hoped she would see the error of her ways, seek repentance for her betrayal. Alas,” it said despondently. “It pains me so that she would avoid the opportunity I had granted her.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” the Boy said, slow and clear.

“What is it that she promised you, Hylian?” The creature raised its chest higher, leaned in over the Boy. “Did she tell you of the agreement between her father and I? The agreement that she too was to uphold, that she so brazenly broke on his passing - when Allant welcomed him into his eternal home? Did she insist that I was something that could be slayed, like a mere animal? Did you honestly believe she expected you to succeed? To return?”

When he noticed his breaths becoming more strained, the Boy, reluctantly, stepped backwards. The creature did not chase him. “You didn’t want to answer my question earlier,” he said. “So I’m not going to answer any of yours.” 

“Ah.” Lowering itself once more, the creature’s shoulders sagged. “So be it. Wallow again in your ignorance, Hylian.” 

The Boy stood straight, his face a cold, quiet pit of smouldering ire. “I know enough, priest. You take innocent people away from their homes, herd them halfway across the country, give them no food, don’t allow them to rest. You punish anyone that tries to speak against you. You push people to take their own lives, just to avoid the fate they’d suffer at your hands.” His fingers buzzed with the desire to loose another arrow of light right down the creature’s neck. “You lead people to their deaths.”

“Ahhhhh.” It almost sounded as though the creature had drawn a breath, though its body remained entirely motionless. “Always the same tale. Repeated ad nauseam. And you would believe it, Hylian?”

“After seeing you, listening to you - more inclined to believe it than I already had been.”

Flowing water rushed in to fill the silence that followed. The Boy could only imagine that if the creature had a mouth, it would be grinning.

“Such is the naivete of children,” it said. “Clearly an explanation would be lost on you.”

“You didn’t deny anything I said,” the Boy pointed out. “That’s more than enough explanation for me.”

“Let it be known, Hylian.” The creature paused, and placed a hand over its ‘heart’. “I lament the souls that were lost under my care,” the creature said. The Boy frowned, stared. He couldn’t sense any such remorse in its fading voice. “But they were weak.” With that, its hand wandered back to the grotty stone ground. “Weak of body, of mind. Of faith. Had they placed all in the hands of All-”

“Shut up,” the Boy said. “If you’re so sorry, then tell me how to kill you.”

“Ah.” The creature paused, as though offended by the interruption, but then pondered momentarily. “I can tell you, Hylian, that whatever strength might be required - you do not have it within you. No man does. Only when His will is carried out in full. Then, perhaps, I too will have earned a place in His eternal home. Perhaps one day.”

In that moment, a song entered the Boy’s mind, and there it floated, yearning for his consideration. But, even if it were to work, the more he thought about it, the more the Boy dismissed it. Such a fate would be too kind for the creature that stood in front of him. 

“Don’t worry,” the Boy said venomously. “I’ll find a way to get you there. Hopefully soon.” 

The soft, barely audible sound of distant bells rang meekly over the countryside, accompanied by nearby birdsong, their hymn strong and lively. The creature turned its body towards the source, and for the longest time, it waited.

The Boy did not let his attention drift off the creature for even a single second.

“A question for a question, Hylian,” the creature said.

“No.”

The bells rang. And then, “Ahh. So be it.”

With that, the creature meanadered off to the Boy’s right. “Had it been another day,” it said, “I would have given you the battle you so obviously desire, Hylian. But today. Ah. Today is a day of rest.” Stretched, sickening limbs reached for the wooden beams above, and the creature climbed towards the hole in the ceiling. “You, too, should rest.” 

Its spider-like form blotted the hole, and though the Boy could not see the sun past it, the light shone through regardless. Only its robes cast a shadow upon the ground - otherwise, the creature might as well not have been there at all. The Boy had half-hoped that the direct sunlight would weaken it somehow, yet it showed no such aversion. It turned. “I will do what you seek, however. You have driven me from my home today. The victory is yours.”

The Boy raised his voice. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be leaving here at all.” He felt sick saying that, that he even had to say that. Every part of him wanted to give the creature another kiss from the Goddesses and watch it crash again to the floor, to sever it, chop it up, to stuff the last little cutlets of what remained into a bottle and throw it into the river. But the Boy knew it would be a waste of energy to have tried any more - energy he needed. After everything the elder had told him about it - that it had seen death a thousand times by a thousand different hands, and that every time it had been cut down it, in time it would regrow, even more monstrous than before, and that it would persist, and persist, and persist, no matter what, until it was satisfied - as though something like that would ever be satisfied. 

He didn’t want to believe it. He had hoped, from the moment he learned about the creature to the moment he had executed it, that the embellishments surrounding it had been greatly exaggerated. That even if someone else hadn’t been able to get rid of it, he could have instead. Not even a Redead would have recovered. Not even a God.

But now he felt as though he had to start believing it. Because it had stood back up. Stood back up, and talked. It talked, and he allowed it to continue talking. 

Now the Boy had allowed it to simply crawl away as well, and travel on to Din knows where. He watched as the creature retreated from the hole without another word between them, and he breathed a frustrated sigh. 

“And don’t come back,” he said under his breath.

“Ah,” a voice came from behind him. The Boy turned, and faced the small puddle of brilliant blue on the floor, little more than a few droplets, fizzling away to nothing. 

“That,” it said, “I will not guarantee.”

Then, it was gone.

The Boy finally relaxed his arms, and led his bow back home safely. He quickly did the same for the arrow, otherwise he would have snapped it in two. His head, on the other hand, already felt split down the middle. When his hand crossed his brow, the Boy realised then that he had been sweating - since when, he couldn’t tell.

The bells rang more vigorously, in that far-off place, but the birds had stopped singing along. In time, footsteps once again echoed in the dead church as the Boy moved towards the entrance. He needed time to think, needed answers to questions - honest ones. The details she had seemingly omitted. An agreement. A betrayal. Allant? He hated that the creature even made him consider these words, and yet, whether truth or lies, it had, and he did.

But first, he needed to think.

He found himself stopping halfway to his destination and looking back. He stared at the statue of the woman, sitting as still now as when he had entered - and still sans a head - and recalled the creature showing some manner of distaste towards her. With a slight jog, he headed over to where the statue’s eye had dropped, scooped up as much of its remains as he could, brought it back to the statue’s broken head, and laid the pieces to rest.

“Thanks for the help, ma’am,” the Boy said, and then once again made his exit. He estimated it would take him at least a few hours to make the trek back to Atonia, which left him plenty of time to mull over his thoughts. So he thought, and as he thought, his head began to fill with questions. 

Many, many questions.


End file.
